by L. L. McNeil
Another Ittallan stepped forward, an older man with white hair and a crooked back. His hands were chained behind his back, his robe caked in years of grime and dirt. Sapora narrowed his eyes, wondering how a thrall had lived to such an age in the bowels of Sereth.
Sapora did not wish to transform any more than was necessary, and readjusted his grip on his scimitar. Opposite, the Ittallan picked his way past dead bodies and pools of blood. He was engulfed in light as he transformed, and Sapora snorted as he saw an eagle, almost seven feet tall, stood before him. His wings were ripped apart, feathers torn from the bone, but the talons on his feet were easily as long as Sapora’s own weapon. In contrast to his white feathers, the eagle’s beak and eyes were coal black and piercing.
The eagle lashed out with talons extended; four huge blades on each foot. Sapora danced around the eagle as much as he could, but with the pit getting full, the ground soft underfoot, and the injuries he had sustained, he could not move with the speed of the earlier battles and felt fatigue taking hold. The eagle’s beak was also deadly—it was hooked to pierce and tear through flesh, and Sapora was nicked by it several times as he continued to dance around his enemy.
He jabbed at the eagle with his blade, but was deflected and thrown away by the sheer strength of its head and beak, and it forced him backwards to the corner of the pit. The crowd’s chanting and cheering were louder here than in the centre of the battlefield, and Sapora heard their disdain for him. How could he, a mixed-blood bastard, ever hope to survive the trials?
‘It should be Tacio down there.’
‘Vasil should rule another two years.’
‘Send the half-blood back to Val Sharis.’
The eagle struck, the force of its attack shoving Sapora back into the wall. Is talons tore through his coat, but missed his flesh, and Sapora pressed himself flat against the wall to avoid another strike. The jeers grew louder.
Sapora crouched and switched his hold on his scimitar so the blade pointed towards himself. He mustered his strength and pounced as the eagle extended its talons again, shooting past the bird’s neck as he drew his blade along the length of it. When he landed a moment later, all time stilled around him. He used his incredible speed for strikes more than anything, but he could also use those same muscles to move faster than most could blink. It was faster than the eagle could strike. It crashed to the ground in a heap, its head severed.
The booing above turned to cheers as Sapora straightened.
One round to go.
‘Tacio. Prepare my crown. I’m ready for it.’
‘Don’t be so sure of yourself, Sapora. The best is yet to come!’ Tacio called back in his lazy tone.
At his brother’s words, his final opponent fell into the pit from above. Sapora stepped back, getting the measure of his new target, and grimaced. It was a Varkain, one of the old guard—a constrictor with dark coils thicker than tree trunks, almost double the length of Sapora’s transformed state.
Another faceless, nameless opponent. Another life to be taken. Sapora was expected to transform, too. To face his opponent Varkain to Varkain. But without his venom, he’d be crushed. He had to show them all what he was truly capable of. It was the only way to silence his doubters.
Instead, he gripped his weapon and darted forward, slashing at the huge snake, but doing little damage against its hardened scales. The constrictor, while enormous, did not have the speed of a Cerastes or Naja, and Sapora managed to evade the few strikes it attempted. He heard the whisperings above him, and knew they expected him to wear down his opponent, getting in an attack here or there, turning it into a battle of stamina more than skill. But Sapora wanted to shock them, to prove that he was a worthy ruler. That he was indeed his father’s son, but greater.
With one hand still limp from the bite, Sapora inhaled sharply. The snake took up most of the pit, its bulky form pushing away bodies to create the space it needed to move freely. It was now or never. He darted forward, expending all his remaining energy in boosts of speed as he clambered onto the snake’s body and darted up higher and higher until, in a few heartbeats, Sapora crouched on the top of its head. Flicking his scimitar out, Sapora plunged it through the constrictor’s skull, right to the hilt.
‘It looks like we are to have our last meal at the keep, Tacio.’ Vasil said, leaning forward to his son as he joined the crowd in applause. ‘Perhaps you could beg Sapora to remain, if you’re particularly attached to this place?’
Tacio trembled, his eyes on the fallen constrictor that filled the bottom of the pit. ‘I think we need to get some stronger challengers. Maybe double thrall recruitment?’
‘Do not show your displeasure so openly, son. You will pay your respects to the new king, as will we all. Law is law. Sapora fought well. A worthy successor to the Jade Crown, and I can rest.’
‘Well fought.’ Tacio said, clapping slowly as Sapora pulled himself up the side of the pit and out into the open cavern having retrieved his second scimitar. Blood and sweat dripped from him, but the smile he wore was nothing short of triumphant. Tacio dropped to his knee, as his parents did beside him, and one by one, so did the other Varkain gathered.
Sapora tried to slow his breath as best he could. Whether the adrenaline coursing through him was a remnant of the fighting or excitement at what was to happen, he couldn’t tell. He grinned as Vasil stood and removed the circlet of gold from his head. In the low light of the tunnels, the jade jewels glistened, and Sapora’s mouth went dry.
‘King Vasil speaks to those of you gathered here. You are in witness of the passing of sovereignty to Sapora, the Crown Prince of Sereth and Val Sharis, who will be the ruler of these lands and protector of the Varkain now his errantry is complete.’
Vasil took three steps until he was in front of Sapora, who dropped to one knee before his father. Their eyes met as Vasil placed the crown on Sapora’s head, and bowed to him.
‘I receive the Jade Crown, symbol of my people, and all the powers and holdings that come with it. Vasil shall remain an advisor to me, as will Tacio as our world is in the midst of war. This shall remain so, until such time as I have no need for counsel. You are witness.’
Sapora stood up to an eruption of noise and hissing, applause and cheering, as he became the new king. ‘To the keep. I wish to dine.’
He brushed past Vasil and Savra as they kneeled, and stopped by Tacio, who was still mid-bow. ‘Put your hatred to one side and we might come out of this war better off.’ Sapora said, continuing up the overhanging cliff and into his new home.
*
‘My King, you have a visitor. A Samolen.’ One of the Cerastes announced, entering the large, inner-room of the keey where Sapora dined with his family. Four CErastes stood at the door, all in matching livery.
‘A Samolen?’ Sapora hissed, glancing up from his meal, the first he’d eaten since returning to his homeland. He’d had no time to rest or prepare before his battles, and did not wish to stop now, when he needed to replenish his energy and venom. ‘Send him through.’ Now he wore the crown, those seated with him ate only when he did, and kept wary eyes on the visitor as he was brought in.
‘King Sapora. May I offer you my felicitations on your new title.’ Topeko said, bowing his head to the table as he entered the inner keep. When he raised his gaze, he carefully took in the new King and his entourage. Sapora could feel his unease, and broadened his smile. ‘Thank you, Topeko. It is most kind of you to travel all this way.’
‘New kings in Sereth do not come about often.’ Topeko kept his attention only on Sapora. ‘May I have a private word?’
Sapora considered the request as he chewed his mouthful of food. His people were watching him as closely as Topeko, and he had no intention of appearing weak considering the trials he’d endured to claim his crown. ‘We may not. You can speak freely here.’ Sapora pushed his empty plate away and drank deeply from his cup, watching Topeko all the while.
The scholar cleared his throat. ‘I have come to tell
you of the elder dragon we found, the one in the mountains bordering Val Sharis.’ He licked his lips. ‘It was the very same dragon whose power Aciel stole at the beginning of his conquest—still alive, but barely.’
Sapora remained silent as Topeko spoke.
‘We were able to restore her power. We took it from Aciel, moved it into the stone of the drake Kohl had with him, and returned it to the elder dragon. It healed her wound. Gave her life. The most astounding thing I’ve ever witnessed. And Aciel’s power will have suffered immeasurably.’
‘Listen to this magician. The threat is over now!’ Tacio said. ‘They could never reach us in here anyway.’
Vasil pursed his lips together.
‘Would you have wanted to risk it? Ridiculous birds,’ Savra replied.
Sapora digested Topeko’s words for a long moment. ‘You stole his power?’
‘Yes, we did.’
‘Then he will be most desperate to reclaim it.’ Sapora said, his voice measured. ‘His Arillians have invaded the skies above Sereth. For the moment, we are well protected by our land, but I’m sure it will not be long before he finds some way into our tunnels. I do not like hiding, like a rat, but I am unwilling to sacrifice myself or my soldiers in a fight we cannot win.’
The chatter stopped around the table at his words, and all eyes returned to their liege. Despite the gravity of what Sapora said, his voice was calm—there was no fear or anger in his tone.
‘King Sapora, I fear the war will end with a bloody battle between Arillians and dragons, and it is the dragons that will end up burning the world and reducing all peoples to ash. From dragon fire begun, from dragon fire undone.’
‘Spare me your prophecies, Topeko. Tell me. Why did you visit Sereth? To spread misery? Get us to leave the safety of our homes and fight back? I’ve just gotten hold of my kingdom, surely you do not expect me to risk it all on day one?’
Topeko waited a moment, his cheek jewels glinting. ‘I seem to recall some sealed tunnels here, Sapora. Rumours that a sleeping dragon is buried here, deep within the earth.’
The Cerastes closed in on the Samolen at his words, mouths agape and fangs extended as they began to transform.
‘Halt!’ Sapora ordered, getting to his feet. ‘How did you come to hear such a thing?’
‘Why did you not disclose the location of the sleeping beast before? You have known since you left Berel that you sought a Sevastos!’
‘This is an ancient Varkain weapon. For the Varkain alone to know and use, no other!’
‘So it is true, then. How did it come to be?’
‘Enough! I permitted you entry to my country so you could pay your respects, and you insult me? You have walked willingly into the snake pit. Your boldness is your failing! Get rid of him.’
Two Cerastes turned to Topeko, their weapons raised. ‘We will escort you out.’
As the footsteps of his guards died down, Sapora realised he trembled and his stomach churned. It was the most well-kept secret among the Varkain. Had there been some spy who had let information slip? Had Topeko’s magic somehow given him the ability to learn of it?
‘It appears you do not have the same ruthless touch as father after all.’ Tacio voiced, leaning back in his chair. ‘Trials sapped all your strength? None but the Varkain are to know about the weapon, and you have let—’
Tacio was on the floor a moment later, so swift and sudden was Sapora’s strike. He withdrew his scimitar into his sleeve immediately following the attack, stunning the whispers into silence. Sapora allowed the gurgle of blood on the floor to echo in the room for several moments before speaking. ‘I do not take kindly to being called weak, Tacio. The Samolen is a friend who I have allowed to live. I am your king. Question me again and you won’t live to do anything else.’
Clutching his chest, Tacio staggered to his feet.
Sapora continued. ‘Even if Topeko spreads the information, it does not matter. I will unleash the weapon on Linaria soon enough, and then Aciel will have a real fight on his hands.’
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Palom pulled the first sword from his satchel once the door to their suite was closed. A scythe followed the sword, and then two daggers. The bag still held weapons—half finished blades and axe points, but they were rusted and blackened, failed attempts from the forging of the dragon’s weapons.
‘Palom!’ Morgen gasped, stepping forward to take one of the swords. He unsheathed his own weapon and held the blades against one another. ‘What… what is this?’
‘Dragon-forged weapon.’ ‘D—Dragon-forged!?’
‘Anahrik learned how to do this from the book Topeko provided. We needed to guess at a few bits. My workshop is half burnt from the attempts and you can see many weapons did not work. But these weapons are done.’ Palom rested his broad hands on his hips.
‘You bastards, you did it!’ Amarah grinned, picking up her new scythe. ‘No silver?’
Palom dropped his eyes. ‘There was… no time.’
‘This is incredible!’ Morgen said, holding a sword in each hand, weighing them against each other. ‘It’s so light. Perfectly balanced.’
‘Is not just the weight. The power.’ Palom shook his head. ‘Is unlike anything you have seen before. We cut the Arillians down with these. Nothing can stand before the blade.’
Moroda turned to Kohl, and saw he remained stoic. He stood off to the side, gazing out the window, uninterested in Palom’s bounty. He and Palom would never see eye-to-eye, it seemed; the Ittallan had no tolerance for secrecy. Moroda could understand it, after all, he lost his trading partner because of Kohl’s actions, but holding onto a grudge? What good was it going to do? She remembered the Arillian’s words back in Burian, that grudges were a poison better forgotten. She wished Palom could see that and push his hatred aside, but it did not seem likely.
‘This is incredible, Palom.’ Moroda said, picking up one of the blade tips and gently running a finger over it. ‘Are these what you wanted? The legendary weapons?’
‘It is.’
‘You must be very proud to have created them from your own hand.’
‘This is my gift then?’ Amarah said, twirling the scythe. ‘You’re too kind.’
Palom straightened up and looked at the sky pirate. ‘Is gift for you all. The Arillian is taking over. We must fight, we must protect ourselves. With these weapons, you can do this.’
Moroda tilted her head. ‘You…you’re fighting too, aren’t you?’
‘Yes. Of course.’
Moroda nodded, but couldn’t help but question his words. It sounded like he was going away more than anything else. Giving up. She decided to give him her vote of confidence as best she could. ‘These are incredible!’
She held the blade up to the light, marveling at the colours emitted from the metal. ‘How did you do it?’
‘The dragon ore did most of the work. Unlike any weapons I have crafted before.’
‘The ore?’
‘From Berel. I do not think Topeko would be pleased to learn what I have done. This is why I waited until he left before I showed you. But with these, we have good chance to survive the coming battles. No more losses.’
‘Damned good idea. Why not use whatever weapons we have? Who knows what tricks Aciel and his generals will have up their sleeves!’ Amarah laughed. She passed the scythe from one hand to another, marvelling at her new weapon. ‘You’re a useful guy to have around, Palom.’
Moroda laughed as the Ittallan glared at Amarah, who did not retaliate. For all his anger, words had, for the most part, left him. Moroda knew he was still coming to terms with the loss of Anahrik, as she was for Eryn.
‘I promised to protect you. If I fail again, these weapons will not.’
*
Morgen stood watch at the balcony on the far end of the palace guest suites. The night was clear, for once, and the moons shone brightly onto the sleeping palace.
Taban Yul was certainly not asleep, and even at five or six floors
up, he could hear the laughter and chatter of the townsfolk as they enjoyed the night.
Shouts rang out, footsteps clattered on the stone paths, and carriages charged through the winding streets.
He held his dragon-forged sword—Palom’s gift—and held it loosely. He’d little time to practice with it, but it was of a similar length and weight to his normal swords, and he felt comfortable wielding the new blade. Whenever he held it for more than a few moments, it glowed blue, and he loved watching it shimmer in the moonlight.
‘With this, I can avenge her.’ He lunged at an invisible target, swung round and brought it down as though to cleave through a skull. ‘I can avenge Anahrik, too.’ The blade flashed in response, a light in the darkness. ‘Aciel doesn’t stand a chance—’
‘I’m sure the Arillians will cower in fear.’
Morgen dropped the sword with a clatter and looked up at the sudden voice. ‘P—Princess Isa! How long have you been there?’
‘‘Since you started muttering to yourself.’ She was lounged on the sloped roof above the balcony, her arms behind her head as she fiddled with her hair. ‘That’s some blade you have. I’ve never seen one glow before.’
Morgen bent down to pick it up, and sheathed it to dim its light. He wanted to give her the answer she desired, but she’d not asked the question directly, and he held his tongue. Palom hadn’t sworn them to secrecy, but he’d kept their armoury quiet. ‘Why did Sapora do that?’
‘Do what?’ She bit her thumbnail and glanced at the city.
‘After the ball…’
‘Bit of spring cleaning. Winter cleaning, I suppose.’
‘But why? Why the violence? Eryn… She… She…’ ‘She and Moroda should have left when I warned them.
They didn’t seem the type to enjoy a cleansing.’
Morgen balled his hands and turned away. He leaned on the balcony and looked over the edge. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with you. Why you kill so willingly...’